Steep Air
by ValidEntry
Summary: Aftermath of On My Way.  Features Older!Rachel and a cross between Punk!Quinn and Christian!Quinn.  Yeah...just go with it.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: In this story, Rachel and Finn are in their mid-twenties. Quinn and everyone else from the Glee-verse are their age as depicted in canon. Rachel and Finn are not a couple. They never were a couple. There is no such thing as a Finchel in this story. Consider this chapter the prologue. **

Rachel Berry was always the girl who said yes. That scornful, son of a bitch God of her ancestors must have foretold it to Moses on the mountain: There shall be a girl chosen among all those who the Lord your God hath created. She shall come from the tribe of Berry. Such a name will remind future generations of the sweetness of the Jewish people. Yet let her name not deceive! For Rachel Berry shall be plagued by the desire to help others when it would behoove her to turn away from their pleas. She will serve as a lesson to your people, Moses. And let us say, Amen.

Rachel was traversing the misty and hissing streets of Manhattan when that thought bumped into her mind for the eleventh or so time since this ordeal began. This nightmare, this cosmic cataclysm turning the already fragile and weakening particles of her life into ever thinner grains of dust. She was about to collapse right out of existence.

Holding the phone closer to her ear was proving difficult as she maneuvered herself between pulsating bodies that trapped her between them. She wasn't one to shove a shoulder out for leverage. Or to kick clean a clear path. She was as timid in her movements as she was quick with her words.

This was how she managed to continue berating Finn even as she patiently waited for enough wiggle room to launch herself past the latest batch of pedestrians clogging her space. She hoped Finn was paying attention – he tended to drift out of conversations like a dog suddenly losing interest in a toy if you offered it a treat. This was an uncomfortable topic for her. One that made her flinch as if every word she uttered was an actual punch to her sternum.

"I'm certainly glad you don't work in the news business because I've known about her accident for days. I'm honestly surprised this is the first I'm hearing about it from you."

Secretly, she'd been relieved when he'd failed to mention the biggest news story to come out of Lima, Ohio since two elderly gentlemen won the mega-million lottery in 1982. They'd eventually fought over the winnings and…now she was the one losing focus.

"Yeah, I've just been really busy with work and didn't connect it until tonight that you were friends with her sister."

Rachel hesitated as she approached along the avenue directly across from her apartment. She knew if she looked up she'd bear witness to the light beckoning to her from her living room. She let her eyes trace over other buildings. She imagined other lives. What was Finn doing at that precise moment, for instance? Aside from talking to her on the phone.

"We were mere acquaintances, Finn. Definitely not friends."

Rachel heard the faint fizz – the insistent pop – of Finn opening a can of beer.

"Oh, sorry, I don't remember her that well anyway."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and forced herself not to glance at her apartment. She didn't want what awaited her inside those rooms. The distinct cooling of her body and the throbbing within her proved otherwise. She shook her head in a silent attempt at dismissal.

"Didn't know which one well, Quinn or Frannie?"

Finn laughed. "Both, I guess, but I meant Frannie."

It was funny, all those stories that led one to believe that hell was underground. As Rachel let her eyes take in the upper reaches of a nearly dark Manhattan skyline, she understood that hell was the burning luminance behind which stood her living room. And within those confines was the girl who was most likely lounging on her couch with her pink hair tugged back into a tight ponytail. Probably wearing shorts and a tank top even though it was the height of winter and the heat in Rachel's apartment worked intermittently at best.

Finn chuckled again. "Guess your Dads have been keeping you updated. It's pretty intense around here."

"Not every day that a McKinley High School senior gets in a car crash but no one can find the body despite a massive search effort that, to my knowledge, is still being conducted."

Rachel heard the beep of Finn's microwave and it acted as a timer for her as well. She crossed the street and said her goodbye to Finn before he could protest. Whatever microwaveable disaster that constituted his dinner would soon occupy his attention completely and he'd forget altogether that she'd rushed him off the phone.

Rachel stole one final peek upward before she ascended to her own personal hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody plans this type of beginning. Or if they do they are already a fool. Quinn Fabray was an interruption. She'd sped up the pace of Rachel's life and Rachel couldn't think fast enough to counter the whirling flashes of intrusion.

Rachel was letting a teenage girl make a lot of very important decisions for her. Because Rachel Berry was always the girl who said yes. Like right now as she soundlessly reaffirmed her consent by bucking quick and nearly rabid into the fist Quinn had plunged within her. When was the last time sex had been this terrifyingly gratifying? Possibly never. She was full to the point of breaking. She was going to come quicker than usual. And when the last of her wrecking was complete, Quinn was going to ask for what she wanted.

Rachel would say yes. Reluctantly and with loathing for both herself and the girl who begged it of her. But yes was going to slip past her lips and suspend itself between them, knocking aside all the objections Rachel offered to Quinn.

They were four days into this journey that never strayed beyond Rachel's apartment. Already her resolve was a slowly leaking poison that weakened her. Quinn knew it. She used it against Rachel. This evening was a first for them. Rachel hadn't bothered to put on a show that it was a terrible idea for them to go to bed together. She'd simply allowed Quinn to shuck her out of her coat and lead her through the apartment.

Rachel had draped her scarf over the couch and swept her eyes down the curve of Quinn's back. The confident sway of Quinn's body was a fascination that remained largely undefined. Why the captivation? The surest way for Rachel to tell just how much damage this was doing to her was that she had no answer. How could she cure herself of a disease when the symptoms went undiagnosed? She had tossed her gloves on the bookshelf and watched as Quinn sat down primly on the edge of her bed. Rachel stifled a laugh. The girl acted as if she was the only guest invited to a fancy tea party and she'd better be on her best behavior.

An image of their first time together had clouded Rachel's mind. The memory of Quinn's one hand snaking between her thighs as the other grabbed her around the throat made a mockery of Quinn's current demeanor. Rachel had absentmindedly run a lone finger across the scratch on her neck. She wondered when they'd be doing that again.

"Finn finally mentioned you."

A light humming sound had been Quinn's only response. Then had come the tugging, the loosening, the strange ecstasy given to her by Quinn's hand as it curled tightly within her.

Rachel waited now for the emptiness. For the untangling of Quinn's fingers as they came out of her wetter than Rachel had ever seen anyone pull from her. Could have ever dreamed possible that her body was made for such depletions.

Quinn sucked at what Rachel had given her. Drew herself further into Rachel's body and looked at her with soft eyes. Rachel readied herself for those eyes to harden. When the hazel turned to flinty green…that was when Quinn would make her request. How much would it hurt this time to say yes? Rachel hardly dared to guess.

Quinn surprised her by tracing a gentle curve along Rachel's jawline, leaving the barest trace of wetness behind. She darted out her tongue to follow the path from which her fingers had mere seconds ago laid their claim.

"Waste not, want not," Quinn said dreamily.

Rachel settled up on her elbows and regarded a Quinn Fabray who appeared altogether shy and painfully solemn. This was not customary. Granted, they'd only slept together a handful of times, but Quinn always led them to a certain ending. Maybe she just needed a quick intermission.

"Aren't you…" Rachel left the question blank; sure that Quinn would fill in the requisite spaces if that was what the girl truly wanted.

"You can't say very much to Finn."

Quinn's voice still retained that velvety texture that Rachel imagined she'd use when she was done with Rachel. When she was ready for goodbyes. Rachel could detect no rough edges, no hint of future growling demands that would push Rachel into that inevitable yes.

"And maybe you should stop talking to your friend Santana."

Quinn countered this with a firm nip to Rachel's bicep. Rachel knew instantly that the girl had drawn blood. Before she could reach for a tissue from her bedside table, Quinn had swiped at the blood and smeared it across her cheek.

"What the fuck?" Rachel couldn't keep the incredulity at bay.

Quinn was unmoved by the high pitch of Rachel's tone. Her grin coiled slowly on her face as if she were the cobra Rachel had chosen to take out of its lair. And Quinn knew she would always be allowed to bite.

"Felt like marking myself. I've conquered you, after all."

The blood dried prettily on Quinn's face. No matter how dirty this was getting between them, Rachel could be certain that Quinn Fabray was going to come out of it looking beautiful. Even if she mudded up Rachel along the way.

**AN: If you like this story, feel free to let me know. I'm toying with some "writing issues" that shouldn't really plague me. But whatever. Feedback is appreciated, but I'm not gonna bite your bicep if you don't feel so inclined. Other chapters will be longer. If you are kinky enough to like them that way.**


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn could be resolute. She also might as well marry herself to the word obstinate, for Rachel would have no trouble believing that Quinn and that particular personality trait of Quinn's would have a long and cherished live together. Rachel found these mannerisms gallingly exacting and odd compared with the bits of wishy-washy that crept into the girl's behavior. It wasn't as if Quinn suffered from a yo-yo personality syndrome. Quinn only hesitated when Rachel said yes to her about the issue that was nagging, pursuing, and doubtless destroying them.

At the moment, Quinn was the petulant ruler of both Rachel's bed and her heart. She refused – she threatened with a reptilian snap of her jaw toward Rachel's fingers – to wash Rachel's blood from her cheek. The dusky red had faded to a color not dissimilar to that of Quinn's hair. Rachel stroked her fingers in Quinn's hair. The length was longer than she remembered.

"Have you washed your hair since you got here?"

That self-satisfied grin. Girlish roll of her eyes. A mockery of Rachel's question waiting to trickle out like droplets of acid from that pretty tongue of hers.

"Of course, Rachel, I'm not some type of bohemian."

The way Quinn sometimes said her name made it seem as if the girl enjoyed chiding her. Like this was how Quinn addressed her own mother. That thought often left Rachel breathless with nausea. She'd spank that tone out of Quinn – she would! - but that might strike a little too close to home.

"Bohemian girls are quite likely to dye their hair pink or some other bright color, possibly more neon than what you've adopted."

Quinn's smile morphed into a wolfish smirk. She reached up and kissed Rachel on the tip of her nose. Rolling away, she relaxed into the bed.

"Aren't you…" Rachel paused, stopped, sank down beside the heat emanating from Quinn's body. She suddenly understood that she was incapable of asking the question. Quinn was the one who drug it out of her. Let Quinn be the one to take her to that other place again. Quinn was the initiator and Rachel acted only as her reactor. If Quinn said nothing, this would prove another first for them. Rachel couldn't fathom whether to deem that as progress or regression.

"Sleep now. Talk tomorrow."

Quinn's whisper was sweeter than any apple Rachel had ever dipped in honey on Rosh Hashanah. She fell completely silent as she took in the murmurings that Quinn poured out to her God, her Jesus, and her Holy Spirit. Rachel wondered if Quinn's prayers would somehow get lost between the three deities as each one debated which of them should take heed to her petitions on this specific evening. Prayers finished, Quinn's breathing smoothed out in a prelude to sleep.

Rachel would not be able to follow her. She was used to being elsewhere by this point in the night. Quinn had decided to act out a different play and Rachel wasn't confident of her marks. She settled her body more firmly against Quinn and absentmindedly wrapped a finger in Quinn's hair. She thought about pulling; jerking Quinn awake so that they could talk about what they weren't doing. What always happened after was not the performance Quinn was giving to her as the girl dropped more heavily into sleep.

Rachel's mind diverted back to when Quinn first came to her in New York. She was a long-haired, blonde Quinn Fabray at that time. A Quinn Fabray who showed up and asked for entrance into Rachel's apartment by simply saying, "I'm Frannie's sister." She barely recognized this girl as being related to Frannie. The resemblance was there in the slope of the nose and the slight dimple in the chin. But those attributes on Frannie only made her modestly attractive, while on Quinn they somehow enhanced the loveliness of her face. It was that beauty that itched beneath Rachel's skin. That indefinable kind which Quinn possessed and that often mocked Rachel into a lightheaded numbness.

Quinn had surveyed Rachel's apartment as if she considered herself a prospective renter. Rachel had hopped around making apologies for the shabbiness, the lack of furniture, the cracks in the floor.

"Our Glee club is in New York for Nationals. Thought I'd pay you a visit."

Rachel wasn't certain why someone she hadn't seen since they were a child should wish to become reacquainted with her. Rachel's Dads had told her about the Glee club making it to Nationals. But she'd forgotten. There had been no such club at McKinley when she was a student, so that bit of news really meant nothing to her. Maybe Quinn was here to ask for vocal advice. An impromptu singing lesson, perhaps?

"Do you want something to drink? I think I have some soda somewhere…"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Rachel was not sure whether flattery or wariness should dictate her response. Quinn peeked her head into Rachel's bedroom before turning around to face Rachel again.

"I'm very well. I have a small part in a Broadway play at the moment. I've mostly been cast in off-Broadway productions, but they've received good reviews."

Was that the type of answer Quinn wanted? The tilt of Quinn's chin in Rachel's direction and the hypnotizing slowness with which she blinked her eyes left Rachel baffled.

"I have to go now. Dance rehearsal and all that jazz."

Rachel's confusion fought against an unexpected flare of anger. What was this girl playing at with her? Rachel kept her lips pursed together as she walked Quinn back to the door she'd entered not five minutes ago. Quinn leaned against the door and wound her hand around Rachel's T-shirt. She gave it a small but meaningful tug. Rachel gasped and Quinn giggled.

"I'm happy to know there are people who make it out of Lima."

Rachel opened her mouth to answer but some type of invisible fish hook – probably of Quinn's own making – immediately snapped her lips shut. Quinn was gone before Rachel could ask the girl: Don't you think you have the chance to leave Lima behind?

She supposed she could've posed that query to Quinn the next day when the girl once more saw fit to grace her doorstep unannounced. But, when Rachel answered the door, it was Quinn asking the questions.

"Will you take me to church? Would you do that for me?"

Rachel wanted to protest that she was Jewish. And though she'd lived in New York for roughly six years, she had no idea how to get to the nearest church. There was also the tricky matter of what type of religion Quinn practiced. Would it be rude to ask? Was Rachel to remember based on the fact that she long ago barely knew Quinn's sister?

"There are services at St. Patrick's this morning."

Okay, Catholicism. Rachel could work with that. She knew how to get to St. Patrick's. When in doubt, know the tourist route. So Rachel had said yes. And she'd sat in a pew as Quinn knelt down by her side. Rachel followed along by wondering where they'd be in the service if she was at temple. The Shema, the Aleinu, the Kaddish? She recited these prayers as Quinn muttered her own in a language that Rachel never intended to learn.

She was certain they'd say their goodbyes after church. But Quinn had linked her arm through Rachel's and pushed them through the crowded Sunday streets and back to Rachel's apartment. Quinn was the one to lock the door behind them.

"Don't you want to hang out with your friends?"

"Don't you think I hang out with them all the time?"

Rachel wasn't overly concerned when Quinn moved closer to her. Her heart didn't skip beat after beat even when Quinn calmly laid her on the couch. She kept her breathing light and steady as Quinn straddled Rachel, lifting both their skirts in her progress. Only then did Rachel's emotions overheat along with her body. Quinn was wet. She rocked forward as Rachel moved upward to try to halt Quinn's movements.

"But I want it. I want it."

Quinn shoved her panties to the side and spread herself against Rachel's thigh. And Rachel had said yes by grabbing Quinn's ass and heaving the girl harder down on her. It wasn't long before Quinn was the one saying yes over and over into the shell of Rachel's ear.

When Quinn's shuddering had passed and her eyes had cleared, she removed the cross necklace she wore and fastened it around Rachel's neck. She first kissed the cross and then Rachel's lips. She licked at Rachel's thigh. And ended with another kiss at the corner of Rachel's mouth. Quinn stood and smoothed down her skirt. The transformation was complete. Quinn appeared for the entire world as if she was the most moral Girl Scout who ever sold someone a box of Thin Mints. She was nearly out the door before she spoke again. Rachel – disoriented and overwhelmed – felt anchored to the couch.

"I'll come see you this summer. Sound good?"

And Rachel had said yes.


	4. Chapter 4

(1)

"Do you want to raise your kids as Jews?"

Rachel understood that this wasn't a throw-away question from Quinn. She wasn't merely making conversation until Rachel was more awake. Quinn seemed to hit when Rachel was too ill-equipped to verbally spar back with her. Rachel was never more exposed than when she cycled out from her dreams of Quinn to the reality – the real and tangible proof - of the girl sprawled out in Rachel's bed.

"Should I decide to one day have a child of my own, yes, I will want to pass along my Jewish heritage."

Rachel skimmed her fingernail against the blood that had encrusted on Quinn's cheek overnight. She was absorbed by the slow drift of those dried particles as they separated from Quinn. Rachel thought of the sacrament. And that day at St. Patrick's when Quinn had so devotedly taken in the wine. The representation of blood and of suffering. The remnants of Rachel's own now ghosting across her sheets.

"You've made a mess."

"We've made plenty of messes together, Rachel. This is practically nothing. Let me show you."

The lyrics to Like a Hurricane flooded into her brain as Quinn flipped her and wrenched her panties off. A teasing string of Quinn's wetness met her ass and she rocketed upward to receive it. She was making an offering to Quinn. And Quinn always knew what to do with a ritual.

"Jesus, how do you get that wet so quickly?"

Quinn lowered herself more firmly against Rachel. She was weighted down heavily on the mattress. The smell of sex assaulted her and she breathed in deeply. A tattered moan left her mouth before she could bite it off.

"I know you don't believe in Jesus, but there's no need to use his name in such a way. And I get wet this fast because that's what the idea of fucking you does to me. You're a big girl, Rachel; you should know how these things work."

The pressure from Quinn's body left her and what remained was the undulating feel of Quinn's pussy as she created a friction that Rachel wasn't convinced she'd ever be able to quench. Quinn's hands gripped at her, fingernails again searching for blood. Rachel winced as the first pinpricks formed underneath Quinn's blunt graze.

"Now we're starting to make a mess."

Tension twisted itself almost benevolently through her body. Goosebumps instantly sprung forth as Quinn gently spread her ass cheeks and settled more deeply within her.

"Oh my fuck!"

"Exactly."

They were in contrast. Quinn was leisurely fucking her ass while Rachel frantically humped the mattress. She was searching out her orgasm as if there would be a pot of gold waiting for her at the end of this particular rainbow ride. Quinn reached again with her hands and wrapped them decisively around her ribcage.

"Quit trying so hard. We're not nearly messy enough yet."

Quinn scooted up her back, laughing. Swirls of Quinn's wetness stung hot against her flesh. She was unable to suppress the urge to swipe her hand backward in pursuit of a taste. Quinn stopped her with another of those giggles that sounded far too innocent to come from the mouth of a girl willing to tease her so ruthlessly.

"If my come was made of color, I'd be painting a beautiful picture on your back right now."

A trace of a finger along her spine sent a shiver spiraling through her. The tickle of Quinn's hair near the nape of her neck lulled her. Until Quinn caressed her finger across Rachel's forehead and Rachel fully realized just how messy Quinn wanted her.

"What is it with you?"

"I'm territorial, Rachel. What is mine needs marking."

Quinn was straddling her neck and moving again. Recklessly this time. She pulled at Rachel's hair until Rachel turned to greet the fierceness of Quinn's gaze. Tears – were they of gratitude or pain? – leaked out as Quinn's hands tightened. Quinn owned her. She could look at nothing but Quinn's face until the girl came with a muted sob of relief. Quinn slanted her body away from Rachel and stretched, almost Sphinx-like, beside her.

"Roll over."

Rachel turned as Quinn leaned above her. She should've been embarrassed by what Quinn saw. But there was no point in denying that Rachel had soaked the mattress beneath her.

"That's a nice little picture right there. I bet they could use that pattern in a Rorschach test."

"Is it messy enough for you, Quinn?"

"Almost."

Quinn's fingers were suddenly between her thighs, reaching, finding, pinching her clit. Rachel lifted her body enough to meet Quinn's mouth. Quinn laughed into Rachel's open lips before wrestling briefly with her tongue.

"You are going to come so hard that you squirt, Rachel. Then, and only then, will this be messy enough. Yes?"

And it didn't take long for Rachel to once again prove she was the girl who always said yes.

(2)

"Do you pray?"

"Usually not when someone is naked on top of me."

Quinn sighed and slid from Rachel's grasp. They eyed each other carefully. Rachel knew this was one of those moments where she couldn't be sure which way the pendulum would swing. Quinn's eyes were a storehouse of secrets. But she wasn't presently allowing Rachel access.

"I'm going to take a shower."

"Lighten up, Quinn!"

Quinn spun around and the melody from Like a Hurricane once again flittered through Rachel's mind. It was clear which direction they were heading. And no warning signal – no stop sign – would halt Quinn until this mood passed.

"Joking doesn't suit you."

"And the tantrum you're currently throwing doesn't look so hot on you."

The flash of deep, sullen green that quickly appeared in Quinn's eyes was what Rachel had expected to see the night before. She might as well take a shower too. Quinn was going to make her request soon. Sighing, she rose from the bed and followed behind Quinn. Quinn turned again and stood close to Rachel. But not close enough to touch.

"Santana warned me about you."

"And I warned you _not_ to talk to Santana so often. How long do you think a teenage girl can keep her mouth shut?"

The smirk. The trap Rachel should have seen from miles. The glint in Quinn's eyes as bright as a comet streaking past her.

"I don't know, Rachel, you tell me. You're fucking one after all."

The bathroom door shut. Rachel blocked out the sound.

**AN: Numbers indicate that folks are reading this story. I get the impression that half of you are like "WTF?" and the other half of you are shaking your head listlessly in my direction. So…yeah. I have no clue! If you've read any of my previous stories, you know I like to go back and forth in time. Next chapter covers (in part) the summer that Quinn visits Rachel in New York. **


	5. Chapter 5

(1)

"Stop! Stop! Stop! No…not yet. I'm sorry, but I can't…"

"Quinn, this is so beyond ridiculous. You have to…"

"I'm not ready. Forgive me, you've got to try and forgive me."

Quinn leaned forward, clasped her hands together. They'd gone further this time than during any other attempt. But they were regressing yet again. Marching backwards was not ever as difficult as when the scenery never changed and you were being led by a stumbling girl. Rachel wanted to ignore Quinn, trudge them past this barrier. She'd sacrificed enough and this repetitiveness was what turned potential saints into sinners. Her hand wanted to stray to Quinn's mouth and shut it.

"Why do you always pray when we get to this point?"

"It's the only thing that comforts me."

Now wasn't the opportune moment for Rachel to play Doubting Thomas. To keep pushing Quinn was likely only to end in Rachel being the one to fall down. She placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on Quinn's knee. Quinn interlaced her own twitching fingers with Rachel's and looked her over.

"I want to ride your face."

"From piety to vulgarity faster than any angel could open their mouth to sing. Only you, Quinn Fabray, only you."

Rachel glanced at Quinn just long enough to take in the gold flecks that dominated Quinn's eyes. Gone was the harsh edge of green that was always the big bang that precipitated the potential dissolution of their relationship. Rachel turned them around. The use of saying no long lost to her.

Because Quinn Fabray understood that she was Rachel Berry's weakness. Quinn had the strength of Samson and she lorded it over Rachel. Jesus had only walked to the cross once. Rachel had to make the trek daily.

"We're so good together, Rachel."

Those were summer words. Once uttered in Rachel's ear in sweltering heat created more by Quinn's presence than anything the weather in New York had to offer. She had not believed Quinn. Yet she had not been given the opportunity to disagree with her. And even though those words now made a parody of everything right and true and fair in Rachel's world, she allowed her silence to serve as her assent.

(2)

The summer came and so, too, did Quinn. She was at Rachel's apartment by mid-June; unkempt pink hair and nose ring a transformation that startled Rachel into silence.

"I can only stay here tonight."

Rachel felt dumb. Out of her range. She hadn't counted on Quinn to make real her promise and visit Rachel in New York. Yet here she stood, somehow appearing both gangly and poised. She was an altered Quinn Fabray. The tough edges of her face meeting the tender curves of her body in a manner that had Rachel out right gawking.

"I-I wasn't…expecting the pink."

"I thought your first response might be that you weren't expecting me at all."

Quinn's appearance took the words from Rachel and scattered them out of reach, but still in full sight. Maybe it was that the changes to Quinn were so bold that they almost gave Rachel the illusion of subtlety. If Quinn's body acted as a lighthouse, her pink hair would be the only indication that the whole operation was working. Rachel used it as her focal point.

"How – why – can you just be – visit – me this one night?"

"I'm here with Santana and Brittany for the weekend. Don't wanna be rude and bail on them the whole trip. So, you only have me for tonight."

Have her for what, though? To discuss the latest fashion trends? Should Rachel broach the pink-haired elephant in the room? Quinn sat down on the edge of Rachel's couch and regarded her severely. Rachel would come to know that pose well. Quinn, posture straight and eyes shining with glory. Quinn, the most sedate and moral visitor to ever cross the altar of Rachel's apartment.

"Are you going through a rebellious streak?"

"Not practically. I like this color. Do you?"

"While I can't say that pink is my favorite color of choice, I suppose it isn't too bad."

"Lie down on the couch, Rachel."

"But…wouldn't you like me to take you to dinner or…."

"Wouldn't you rather this be our dinner?"

Quinn's expression was all little girl lost. Her actions were screaming let me show you the way home. Quinn removed her shirt. No bra underneath. Her shorts were next. Underwear nowhere found.

"Lie down on the couch, Rachel."

Rachel's body refused to let her hesitate any longer. Quinn settled between Rachel's legs. Her fingers toyed with her clit. Her eyes brewed a storm that Rachel wasn't sure God wanted her to survive. Quinn's fingers disappeared deep within her. Masturbation had never looked so wholesomely beautiful.

"I do this…I do this every night. I want you to know the things you make me feel."

Quinn's fingers came out and plunged into Rachel's mouth. There was so much wetness that it dripped from Rachel's chin to her neck even as she swallowed. This taste of Quinn was an ocean in Rachel's mouth that battered against her tongue. She choked and Quinn giggled cutely before delving into herself again. Quinn groaned heavily as wetness leaked out of her in the smallest of waves.

"We're so good together, Rachel."

"We're not technically together."

"Soon enough…soon enough."

Rachel pinned Quinn's hand between them. Quinn used the pressure Rachel applied as an anchor of opposite effect. Instead of stopping Quinn, the girl launched her body more firmly toward her orgasm.

"Quinn…you're a teenager…you're still in school."

"Oh, I plan on wrecking that."

Rachel's frown – her confusion – was temporarily misplaced as Quinn's mouth swooped down to lick at her jawline. And vanished altogether when Quinn bent lower. Rode herself against Rachel harder. Rachel supposed that questions could wait until morning.

But morning found Quinn gone.

(3)

Quinn brought winter with her when she returned to Rachel. There were starches on her cheeks and bruises outlining her neck. Rachel froze at the entranceway of her apartment as a frantic Quinn babbled at her.

"I tried to think of other ways, Rachel. But my mother would _never_ let me be with you. Santana hated this idea but she brought me here. I…I…"

Rachel's confusion intensified. Quinn dropped to her knees in prayer. And just as fast, she rose to her feet and wrapped herself around Rachel, taking them both to the bedroom. Quinn's hand was around Rachel's throat as they crashed to the bed, effectively shutting Rachel up and mocking her when she began to speak.

"This is how it felt when I hit that truck. All the air left me. It was really quick. Just how I'm doing to you."

Rachel could've taken Quinn's hand from her. But her body wanted other things. She bucked forward and Quinn smirked.

"We really do make quite the pair, Rachel."

Rachel nodded yes and that was clearly all the answer that Quinn had needed.

(4)

Five days later and they were back in Rachel's apartment. Repeating patterns like lab rats that could never really leave their cages for long.

"Tell me why you keep doing this! You can't keep fucking me and then asking me to take you back to Lima. It's been too many days. Call your mother. Let her know you're okay, at the very least."

Quinn was already undressing. Rachel's body was behaving horribly. Just that simple action of Quinn's had her wet and willing to say yes. Rachel stomped her foot and Quinn turned. It remained difficult at these moments – when Quinn's beguiling innocence radiated a particular sexual allure that Rachel didn't dare to analyze – to concentrate.

"Please! Why?"

"Every time I pray, I ask God to send me a sign that I should go home. After we have sex, I feel like I've done something wrong. And I think of it as God's way of wanting me to leave you. But when we are in your car headed to Lima, I just have to glance at you to see another type of sign."

"You have to decide between the signs. We can't make it like this."

"I'll keep praying on it."

Quinn was naked. She entered Rachel's bedroom. Rachel unbuttoned her jeans. She followed Quinn.

Before she lay down on the bed beside Quinn, she hesitated. She used this brief pause between the words and the act as her personal chance at reflection. Rachel prayed to Quinn's God that after this time, they'd make it all the way to Lima. She prayed to her own God that they'd just end up back at her apartment.

**AN: Finished. Done. The end. Happy Faberry treasure trails to you all! **


End file.
